


Beneath Halla's Hide

by victorianbee



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, a lot of unresolved everything tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25541056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorianbee/pseuds/victorianbee
Summary: Solas and Lavellan find an old Dalish shrine. Heavy unresolved sexual tension and a lot of almosts. Takes place between the Haven dream and the balcony scene. :^)
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Beneath Halla's Hide

**Author's Note:**

> Started a new solavellan file and wanted to suss out this relationship a little better. Fen'Harel, take me home.

> _So long, now. Weak. Thousand years._
> 
> _I slumbered._
> 
> _Now, I wake._
> 
> _Must grow strong._
> 
> _The earth is wet from rain, but._
> 
> _Blood. Fresh blood. Young, crying._
> 
> _White coat, small horns._
> 
> _Halla._
> 
> _I remember halla._
> 
> _Broken, small halla. Injured._
> 
> _Easy kill._
> 
> _Finally, a meal._

“So what’s with your face, then?” Sera asked loudly, disrupting the quiet of camp. 

Faina Lavellan was spooning out a bowl of stew for Blackwall when the question caught her off guard. “E-excuse me?” Faina sputtered, at a near loss for words. She looked up at the gruff Warden beside her, who quickly took the bowl and averted his eyes from hers. 

_That was rude, right?_ Faina thought angrily. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Faina had quickly realized the casual way in which she addressed members of the Inquisition was often at odds with human customs and niceties, so different from how her clan treated each other as family. But... surely that was considered universally rude even by Sera’s standards.

She glanced around the fire, hoping to see looks of either horror or agreement on her companions’ faces to gauge how she should react. Blackwall seemed entirely fixated on his stew, and Harding was studying their map intently. Her eyes landed on Solas, who despite normally ignoring Sera, had looked up curiously. After a moment, his eyes met hers.

“I bet there’s a story there, yeah? Not like there’s much else to do,” Sera slumped against one of the logs around the fire. Her hands were busy as she spoke, making arrows by firelight.

“Well…” Faina began, nervously. She tore her eyes from Solas’ and began serving herself stew. “My blood writing is for the Pathfinder, Hanal'ghilan, a golden Halla that appears in times of great need. All Dalish elves, upon reaching adulthood, must meditate on the ways of the Dalish, our clan, and how we may provide--”

“No, no, no, no, no! I _know_ about all that elfy crap, with the blood writing magic and stuff. That’s _boring_ stuff,” Sera interrupted. “I mean your scars.”

Everyone looked at Sera incredulously, and it seemed the whole camp went silent.

Faina flushed a bright red.

No one in the Inquisition’s forces had ever asked her about the grisly marks on her face--perhaps because when she met them there had been more important things at hand. As a woman who never really cared much about her appearance, Faina hadn’t even considered that others might think them distasteful.

“Sorry if they offend you so much,” Faina bit out angrily.

Sera laughed, unfazed. “They’re not offensive, you daft thing! They’re interesting. I like interesting, so spill the story!”

Harding coughed awkwardly.

Faina blinked a few times, then settled against a log. “I’m not much of a storyteller…”

“Fair enough,” Blackwall grunted. He dug into his pack and pulled out the bottle of wine the party had found earlier that day. He popped the cork and handed it to Faina. “Usually helps novice storytellers get their start.”

Faina smiled at him, and took the bottle. After a large swig, she began to speak. 

“The hunters of our clan had left for a few days, and I was helping a friend with the Halla. I heard bleating from a distance, and went to go investigate. Eventually, I found a halla fawn that had wandered off and when I went to grab it, I saw its eyes had been plucked out by crows.”

There was a moment of tense silence around the fire as everyone listened to the Inquisitor speak. She could feel herself becoming bolder now, more invested in telling the tale. 

“It was crying, and making so much noise I’m sure Andruil herself could hear the thing, so I picked him up and moved to carry him back to the herd. When I turned around--do you know the feeling you have at the back of your neck, when you know something is about to happen?”

She waited, looking around the fire. Blackwall and Harding nodded, thinking of their own trials of survival.

“I didn’t feel anything of the sort,” Faina continued. “And that was perhaps the worst part of it all.”

“Well, shit,” Sera commented and she reached for the wine bottle next to Faina. 

“I turned around and saw a massive black wolf, easily twice my size, staring down at me and the fawn. I’d clearly ruined his dinner, and I didn’t even have enough time to raise my staff before he swiped at me.”

“Those scars on your face are from an alpha wolf?” Harding clarified. “And you _lived_?”

Faina nodded. “I don’t remember most of it, just that there was teeth and claws and screaming and blood and I think I fired some lightning at it at some point--I don’t know. But my friend Tove found me, bleeding out next to the fawn a few hours later.”

“What happened to the wolf?” Blackwall asked.

The Inquisitor shook her head sadly. “I don’t know, no one has spotted it since. I should have died. There was no reason to let me live, or to not eat the fawn. It had died from its wounds before I was found… Our clan Keeper, Deshanna, told us this was a warning from the Dread Wolf, Fen’Harel, and to be wary of those who seek to join our clan under false pretenses.”

“How long ago was it?” Sera asked, and Faina noticed the gleam in her companion’s eye. She hoped that meant the story was sufficient.

“About a year before the breach, I think,” she replied.

Solas spoke for the first time all night. “And your Keeper. Was she correct? Were there any wolves in halla’s hide that came to light?”

Faina laughed at that. “No, no, not at all. We migrated south after that, and stayed far from other clans as much as possible.”

He nodded slightly, then stood up. “Excuse me,” he said as he turned and walked away.

“Okay, Harding, your turn,” Blackwall grunted as he turned to the dwarf next to him, offering her the bottle. “You got a tale?”

Faina was only half listening to Harding tell a story of childhood mischief as she watched Solas walk into the trees beyond camp.

“He’s just takin’ a piss, Quiz, no need to look like a lost puppy,” Sera whispered to her as Blackwall laughed at a funny anecdote from Harding.

Faina shook her head. “No--yes, sorry. Right.”

She tried to re-engage with the party as the tales got louder and grander but found herself glancing back at the trees every few minutes. Her mind wandered back to the dream she’d had with Solas. They had been in Haven, and he’d told her she’d changed things. That he’d… _felt_ her change things.

She hadn’t expected it, but she’d found herself drawn to his side, seeking his stories, hearing of his travels. It was a comfort to be around another elvhen mage, shy and solitary as he was. She felt no pressure to say the right thing, to be anything other than herself. They could sit and be together and not say a word for hours without it feeling awkward.

And then she ruined it with a stupid kiss.

 _He kissed you back_ , she reminded herself. _Twice. With tongue._

Solas needed time to sort through his emotions, and he’d asked for her understanding. She’d given it willingly, and enthusiastically. But it had been over a month now, and she was starting to think he’d said that just to be kind.

When she helped him recover the spirit of wisdom, he’d thanked her. And then left. She wasn’t sure if he was going to return, and unsure if she could blame him. 

But he did. He came back.

After that day, talking to him didn’t feel as effortless as it had before, and she yearned for that again. The feeling of camaraderie between them felt emptier now.

As the fire dimmed to soft embers, Faina stood and stretched, excusing herself.

Solas hadn’t come back yet, and no one seemed to notice. She grabbed her staff, and walked into the woods where he had gone. 

“Solas?” she called, hoping he hadn’t gone too far. 

As she navigated through the trees, she revelled in the feeling of the forest floor beneath her feet, and the bite of the crisp night air. She couldn’t tell where she was going, exactly, and found that it was a refreshing change of pace. Small lightning bugs flitted around her as she walked. 

She heard a twig snap behind her. “Solas?” she called again. 

Only the sounds of the forest answered her.

She turned around, to find a stone statue of a wolf before her. _That was not there a moment ago_ , she thought.

She reached out to touch the statue. 

“ _Lethallan_?” she heard a voice next to her. She jumped at the sound, turning and stumbling backwards as she saw Solas inspecting the statue before her. 

“ _Fenedhis_!”

She landed hard on her back, glaring up at the elf before her.

“My apologies, Inquisitor. I didn't mean to alarm you,” he replied warmly, extending a hand out to help her up. Faina looked at the hand, then his face. She could feel her face grow hot under his gaze. 

“Thanks,” she muttered, taking his hand and standing up. His hands were warm against hers and she could feel his breath against her cheeks. She looked up at him, closer now than they had been in weeks, and he smiled down at her. 

“Um,” Faina began, eloquently. “Is this… your doing?”

Solas led her towards the wolf figure before them. “I stumbled across it and wished to show you,”

“We’re not in the fade, then?” Faina placed her hand upon the rough surface of the carved stone. She couldn’t take another-kiss-but-not-a-kiss again. 

He shook his head and rested his own hand next to hers. “No, we are not. As I walked the Fade these past few nights, I found myself drawn here. After your story at the fire this evening, I felt that perhaps you might find…” He trailed off, sounding almost uncertain. 

“Comfort?” She snorted. “In Fen’Harel?”

Solas chuckled and looked away. “No, not in Fen’Harel. But perhaps in Dalish traditions such as these.”

Faina frowned. “Solas… you detest the Dalish... “

Solas nodded again, but it seemed heavier this time. “Yes, I find many Dalish clans and traditions to be frustrating. Rooted in desperation and strife with no attempt to reclaim their agency. It is pitiful, at best.” Something in his voice sounded strangled, broken. 

Faina sighed. In most things she and Solas were agreeable, and in the few instances they weren’t, participated in a lively debate on the philosophy of the matter. But when it came to the Dalish, Solas was as immovable as the stone carving before them. 

“However,” he continued and he was looking at her again. His eyes softened and Faina found herself staring at his lips. “ _You_ are Dalish, Faina.”

“Does that bother you?” she found herself asking, as she inched closer. “Do I frustrate you?”

Solas smiled, full of mirth. “Yes. In more ways than one.”

Their chests were almost touching, and Faina had to restrain herself from moving the last few inches to close the gap between their lips. 

“Tell me about this statue,” she said instead, turning away. She’d agreed to give him time, and by grace she was going to honor that. She moved away and circled the wolf figure.

“It seems this statue is a shrine to Fen’Harel, and was created outside a Dalish camp some hundred years ago. I would posit maybe three, four hundred years given the state of the stone and relief structure.”

Faina inspected the shrine. “So the camp would have been that way, yes?” She pointed off into the distance of the forest, following the wolf’s eye line. 

Solas raised a brow. “What makes you certain of that?”

“The Dread Wolf never takes his eyes off his prey,” Faina recited confidently. As a First of her clan, it was her duty to be guided by the teachings of her Keeper. And it was the Keeper’s duty to ensure the safety of the clan from the treacheries and trickeries of Fen’Harel and his kin. 

“Clan Lavellan always positioned our shrines of the Dread Wolf so that he watched our camp. Deshanna said it was to ensure we never felt truly safe--to always be on guard and ready to defend at a moment’s notice.”

She looked back at Solas, and found his face hard to read. Cold, again. Faina reached out, tentatively, and grabbed the man’s hand as she walked forward. She looked over her shoulder and smiled. “Come,” she said, but it came out like a question.

He let her lead him through the tree-dense forest, his hand in hers, as she looked at the trees above them. After a few minutes, she gasped. 

“See?” She pointed upwards at the canopy above them. “It seems this clan had a similar idea to ours.”

“Would you elaborate?” Solas asked her politely. 

“The trees in this area are all shorter than the others, look,” Faina began walking in a large arc, eyes skyward. “This tells us a long, long, time ago, this part of the forest was cleared, so the rest of the trees are shorter than the ones surrounding it. This is where the camp was of the Dalish clan that carved that shrine to Fen’Harel! And, see,” she spun him around, so he was facing the way he came. 

“Straight back that way--that’s where The Dread Wolf waits,” she finished. Faina released Solas from her grip, and straightened.

“You miss home?” he asked quietly, beside her. 

She blinked. Was that what this was…? She’d never thought of herself as a particularly devout Dalish, First or not, but upon speaking of her tale at the fire, and finding the shrine with Solas, she realized she _was_ a bit homesick. 

“The Dalish are far from perfect. Far from changing archaic and shameful ideas and traditions. But, yes. I do miss home. I miss my father, and my Keeper, and my bedroll, and the food… But I enjoy being here, with the Inquisition, too. I enjoy helping people, making a difference. Having influence. Meeting people…” She trailed off. She bit her lip, debating how bold she should be alone at night with the man of her affections buried in the woods.

“This all must have been a change, for you,” he responded.

“Yes, but not in all ways unwelcome,” she agreed. 

The two of them stood there a moment, enjoying the serenity of the forest at night. An owl cooed in the treetops above them. A cool breeze kissed their cheeks and Faina found herself tucking in closer to the man next to her. “Solas… the scars--they aren’t so unseemly, are they?”

He seemed surprised by the question but didn’t hesitate. “They are a testament to your will, Inquisitor. I hardly think that--”

“No,” she interrupted, holding his gaze. “I mean, do they look bad?”

Something mischievous danced behind Solas’ eyes. “They do not distract from your eyes if you are concerned about that.”

She groaned, and slumped against a tree. “I’ve never even considered how I look to people with my face all scratched up, but it must be worse than I thought if you can’t even give me a straight answer.”

“ _Lethallan_...” he started gently, but she could tell he was still having fun with her.

“The vallaslin hides it though. And many humans try not to look an elf in the face, so perhaps most haven’t noticed…” She found herself rambling. For the first time, Faina realized she cared a great deal what Solas thought of her appearance. Embarrassed, she scowled. “Apologies, Solas. I… don’t know what came over me.”

“You have no need to hide behind the vallaslin, Faina.” Faina felt a soft hand trace her curved, golden, vallaslin of Mythal. “Your story tonight… it was true?” She looked up and nodded to her friend.

“Then it marks you a brave and noble shepherd. They are a symbol of your wisdom, tenacity, and selflessness. I cannot think of anything more attractive on one’s face than that. If anything,” Solas paused a moment, then continued at a whisper. “It makes you irresistible.”

Faina couldn’t stop herself. “ _Ar nuvenin dirth ma,”_ she whispered back. Her hands shakily rested on Solas’ chest, toying with the wolf’s jaw around his neck. 

“ _Lethallan…_ _da’len… ma…_ ” His forehead rested against hers, and she leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes. She tightened her grip on the wolf’s jaw, so her hands wouldn’t wander. 

“ _Hahren_ ,” she said, barely perceptible over the sounds of the forest. He shivered at the praise of her elvhen tongue, and Faina felt his hand on her hip.

A thousand filthy images of the two of them, against the tree, over the wolf shrine, on his desk at Skyhold, and in her elaborate bed chambers flooded her imagination. In all of them, she and Solas were entangled and bare to each other.

Her breathing was much too heavy to be mistaken for anything less than longing.

 _Kiss me,_ she wanted to beg.

Strong hands wrapped around hers, stilling her fidgeting hands. “It is late, we should head back.”

Faina’s heart sank.

He pulled her away from the tree, and she followed. The two left the thicket of trees from the old Dalish camp and made their way back to camp in silence. Stepping over roots, and letting the soft moonlight guide her path as she navigated the woods with this man at her side, Faina felt truly safe for the first time since the Conclave.

As they approached the shrine once more, Faina was the first to speak. “Solas,” she began nervously. He turned to her, a familiar look of curiosity on his face. “ _Serannas._ Thank you, for offering me a piece of home.”

Solas’ hand came to the back of her head and brought her forehead to his lips. She could feel herself melt under his touch.

“And you, for restoring a bit of faith,” he whispered.

The camp was well abandoned for the night, the empty wine bottle from earlier well-drained, along with a few others they had found over the past few days. The fire had been smothered for the night, and Faina nodded to the two Inquisition soldiers on night watch. She and Solas bid each other good night, and Faina couldn’t help but crawl into her bedroll and wish to meet her friend in the Fade.

She felt her mind drift further and further away until she felt very light. The scenery around her shifted, and she found herself walking barefoot through a thick forest. In her arms was a young halla, crying for its mother. 

Faina knew what came next--she’d had this dream plenty the last few months. A low growl sounded from behind her, and she turned to find herself face to face with the towering, black wolf of her nightmares.

Faina clutched the crying fawn in her arms tighter and stepped back. A massive paw came forward from the beast. It leaned down and sniffed her. She looked down at the figure in her arms to find it gone, replaced instead with her Keeper’s staff. When she looked back up, the wolf was gone.

> _Finally, a meal._
> 
> _A woman. With a golden face._
> 
> _Holding my kill._
> 
> _NO._
> 
> _My claws tear her._
> 
> _She screams, protecting the fawn._
> 
> _I growl and bite at her._
> 
> _Fresh blood._
> 
> _Elf blood._
> 
> _My blood._
> 
> _I howl._
> 
> _I run._

**Author's Note:**

> Translations! (I did my best)  
> Lethallan - Casual reference used for someone with whom one is familiar  
> Fenedhis - common elvhen swear  
> Ar nuvenin dirth ma - I want to know you  
> Da'len - Little one  
> Hahren - mentor, teacher  
> Serannas - expression of gratitude


End file.
